


Ace of Cups: Boys and Baggy Socks

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-04
Updated: 2008-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They've lifted the cup and they want to drink from it.





	Ace of Cups: Boys and Baggy Socks

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of a series of tarot-themed fics...yeah, I never got through even a quarter of the arcana.

Fuuka would usually meet Natsuki after school. The walked to the station together, usually chatting about something school-related before moving onto other things. Sometimes, when neither of them had too much homework or clubs, they would go down to the mall and look at things they had no intention of buying. You know, the normal things that girls did with their friends.

Maybe not _completely '_ normal' – Natsuki was into Cocolulu and fake tans (her parents would flip if she got tanned for real) and boys and all the things you would expect from reading too many girly magazines (she didn't like cooking at all, though, much to Fuuka's dismay). Natsuki didn't belong on a small island in the middle of nowhere; she was always talking about how she wanted to go to Tokyo to Ikebukuro and Shibuya where there was _real_ fashion.

Fuuka's style was more eclectic: she stayed at home more than she went out, she was more comfortable behind a book or a computer, she only wore makeup when she was really bored in the mornings and the only boys she ever really had the courage to talk to were the ones in her dorm... and they didn't count.

But somehow they ended up striking a balance, Fuuka exclaiming over a really cute top that Natsuki had picked out or Natsuki blinking in wonder at the mod that Fuuka had programmed into her cell phone that made a cute little avatar dance on the screen to the tune of the special ringtone any time Natsuki called. They both liked Cielo Mist, Ms. Toriumi and the mascot at Wild Duck Burger.

Fuuka wasn't sure she was allowed to bring Natsuki to the dorm (things there got complicated, anyway, and she wasn't any good at lying) so on Sundays they'd sometimes go the movies together, or to a cafe at Iwatodai Station.

Every other Sunday Natsuki's mom worked all day and her dad was usually away on a business trip, so Fuuka had free reign of the kitchen and she abused her privilege with pleasure. Natsuki didn't sugar-coat her thoughts on Fuuka's cooking - “Honestly, Fuuka, I didn't even know you could do this to rice, this is _really gross_ –” but she tried everything anyway, even the stuff that was too sweet and she usually avoided 'cause she was supposed to be on a diet (she was usually on some sort of diet; exactly what kind varied on a weekly basis).

Fuuka didn't really want to rock the boat, but Natsuki was always talking about this girl she knew who was dating some guy so why couldn't she get a boyfriend like that, or that guy pop star who was _so cute_ did Fuuka see the shots from the new photo shoot in that magazine. So Fuuka asked one evening in the kitchen, halfway through doing the dishes after one particularly disastrous cooking experiment, why Natsuki was spending every Sunday with her instead of going on dates with boys.

Natsuki, who talked about as nonstop as she breathed, opened her mouth and then shut it again. She held a wet mixing bowl in one hand and a towel in the other. “You don't like hanging out?” She asked.

“No, no!” Fuuka protested, waving her hands. She wasn't wearing rubber gloves ( _So bad for your skin, Fuuka!_ ) and she was flicking soap suds everywhere. “I mean, no, like yes. No like not I don't not like hanging out. I mean –” The only way to stop the words from coming out all garbled was to put a hand over her mouth. Fuuka could taste soap and she was getting all red, she just knew it.

Natsuki relaxed, laughing. She looked down at the bowl she was drying as she spoke. “I know what you mean. Me too. I'd really just – I don't want to have to go through all the trouble to _actually_ go on a date, y'know, spend all that time picking a nice dress and getting my hair and makeup just right for a guy who probably isn't worth it anyway. I'd rather just hang out with you.”

There was something of an awkward silence because Fuuka was the type to think about things a lot before she did anything – it resulted in a sensible lack of doing stupid things on impulse but it also made everything harder because by the time she worked up to anything she was nervous and hesitant about it just because of all the time spent stewing on it.

But Fuuka liked to think that she was a bit different these days – not wildly different, but quietly different, different in a Fuuka way, just different enough to lean over and give Natsuki a soft, quick kiss on the lips, pulling back almost immediately to look back down at the dishes, plunging her hands into the soapy water and searching for the sponge that she'd dropped.

What she didn't expect was for Natsuki to put down the bowl and dishtowel and kiss her back, a bit harder this time but still not too fierce, still hesitant. Natsuki's closed her eyes (because that's what you're supposed to do when you kiss) but Fuuka kept her eyes open, gaze resting on Natsuki's sparkly pale eyeshadow while she thought, _well, this is nice,_ while her heart raced a little.

Then it was over; no confessions of love or dramatic revelations, not even any cute accidental touches or blushes or stammerings. They finish the dishes and chat as usual, but now _they're_ different, not in a huge way, just a small, Fuuka-and-Natsuki way, and Fuuka smiles at the thought.

 


End file.
